Freya
by FoibleNoteworthy
Summary: Arthur noticed Merlin was acting a bit odd, but he hadn't expected him to sneak out in the middle of the night. He follows him, naturally, and discovers something soul shattering residing in a lake.
1. The Quiet of a Lake

Merlin was being weird again. _Weirder,_ Arthur admonished himself. He'd been acting odd all week, with no sign of letting up. Just yesterday, trying to lighten him up, Arthur had thrown a goblet at him and called him a clotpole. Merlin had picked up the goblet, placed it back on the table, and turned back to the armour he had been polishing, a perfect and composed servant.

It didn't make any sense.

Arthur decided to confront Merlin about it that night. He refused to acknowledge exactly why he cared, instead telling himself that the lad was probably after a day off and hoping to get it by moping.

Merlin was a picture of stealth. _No, not really_ , he was bloody useless at sneaking, but Arthur couldn't help but wonder _why_ he was trying to sneak out of the castle

Yes, he followed him. Of course he followed him. And _he_ was actually competent when it came to stealth.

He stole a horse. Arthur stared for a full minute at that. (More like glared actually.) The horse was practically Merlin's, as he used it almost every time they went on patrol, to the point that Arthur refused to let anyone else use it, but _still_.

Arthur was going to have to have a very serious talk with his servant when they got back.

Or quite possibly while they're there. He hadn't decided yet.

A night of following tracks - interrupted only by what looked like a snack on Merlin's part at a strawberry bush - led Arthur to Merlin, completely oblivious to him, tying his horse to a tree and walking further into the trees. The horse nickered and Merlin jumped, already having forgotten that it was there.

Arthur knew he'd have no problem keeping himself hidden from the boy.

Tying his horse near Merlin's, Arthur crept silently, using moss and thick logs to keep himself silent.

Merlin, by contrast, was walking on dead leaves. He was deafening in the silence of the still-black dawn.

After an hour of walking - Arthur wondered why the boy had left his horse - Merlin paused, listening. Arthur followed suit, and heard the faintest whoosh of water interspersed with the rustling of leaves shaken by the wind.

Merlin tensed. Arthur worried that the lad had heard Saxons or something but could hear nothing of the sort himself (though he did wonder if Merlins large ears somehow aided him in hearing a threat). Indeed, when Merlin ran much faster than someone who had stood so stiffly should, Arthur feared there was some danger about, and drew his sword before racing after him with his usual silence.

His heart leapt to his throat when he heard a thud and saw in the dim light Merlin kneeling before a massive lake, but he refrained from running after him, seeing no injury on the boy and not wanting to to alert anyone who would wish them harm.

His concern for Merlin rose when he heard him.

There was something very wrong with his breathing. It came in little coughs, air leaping into his throat, and rarely. Some gaps were so long that for a split second Arthur thought he had died. Then another heaving gasp came, wracking the boy's whole body, and Arthur let out the breath he had been holding alongside him.

Eventually the strangled noise subsided and Merlin was silent again, as the sun rose and sent brilliant reds across the sky, reflecting onto the lake. Arthur had to pause to appreciate the beauty. He could see why Merlin had come to that spot specifically even if he still didn't know what he was doing there.

After a long period of stillness, Merlin leaned forward, dipping his hand in the water. He reached in further, until his sleeve and elbow were sodden and coated in mud from the bank. He was looking for something.

Arthur moved around in the trees, trying to get a better look at what he was doing. His new position, behind some trees so close to Merlin that he really has to trust the boy's distraction to keep him from being caught, showed him Merlin's face. Immediately, he wanted to abandon the idea of hiding, but decided not to add embarrassment to Merlin's pain.

Tears tracked down his face, which was twisted by an unknowable agony. His arm in the water was searching furiously - whatever he was looking for was precious, but could not be found. With another gasp, which Arthur now recognised as a sob, he wrenched his arm out of the water, ignoring the cold and the wet that besieged it. He clasped his hands - one cold, one warm - on his lap, as if in prayer. His hand, his knee, his eyes and, Arthur now saw, his sweat sodden hair and brow were all soaking. The arm of his favourite jacket looked black with the damp, and his skin was an unhealthy white, emphasised by the red of his eyes and nose.

He reached for a bag on his shoulder and took out a pot. Arthur watched Merlin pull out strawberries, placing them into the water one by one, as gently as he could, watching them float across the water. Merlin was silent as they disappeared, looking like flowers in the distance.

Arthur frowned, but did nothing.

"Freya?" Arthur started when Merlin broke the silence. He was relieved that the boy didn't hear the twigs snapping beneath him.

Merlin's voice was shaky as he hunched over the pond. Arthur had an inkling of who Freya might be, at least to Merlin, but shunted the idea out of his mind. It was too horrible to imagine such a tragedy befalling his optimistic servant.

"Freya," Merlin tried again. "Are you there? I brought you strawberries. You like strawberries." He let out a shaky sigh. " _Liked_ them anyway."

Merlin reached into the water again, but he couldn't find whatever he was looking for. "I know you're there, Freya. You can hear me. You've come out for me before." Tears began to drop from his eyes again and Arthur again forced himself to let the boy alone.

Another gasping sob wracked his throat, so loud that it must have hurt. "Please, Freya. I know I haven't been to visit you as much as I should have. You're lonely, I know." He pressed his hands into the bank, leaning over so that his tears made ripples in the water. His contorted shape showed a spine so skinny that each bone was visible, even through his tunic and jacket.

Another painful gasp made Arthur swallow sympathetically. "You know I would join you, Freya, if I could, you know that I want to, and that I will eventually, when my duties are done." A bitter laugh came, filled with sadness, regret, anger, and, disturbingly, the slightest bit of mirth.

"My duties." The laugh came again, and Arthur began to miss the sobbing. "How tactless of me. You don't care for my duties, do you, Freya? I can't imagine how I'd feel in your situation, separated from someone you love because they're too busy protecting your killer." He sucked in a breath but Arthur want paying attention anymore. Her killer? Why would Merlin protect someone he has every right to despise? To want dead?

 _Dead._ The girl, Freya, was _dead_. That he couldn't doubt. This was probably where he buried her. How did Arthur not know about this?

 _'You know I would join you, Freya, if I could, you know that I want to.'_

He wants to join her in death. After when his duty is done, he plans to join her. In death. _Dead_.

Merlin, _dead_.

A pain crawled into his chest, bringing him to his knees and his vision blurred. For a moment Arthur panicked, worried that he had been injured or drugged, until he found that his strange breathing pattern matched Merlin's, and he tasted salt. Shaking hands touched his cheeks and found them damp. The pain in his chest continued, subsided momentarily by sobs that Arthur forced himself to keep silent.

Merlin couldn't _die_. Merlin couldn't _want to die_. The thought was so preposterous, a world without Merlin, a world where Merlin could feel the same as Arthur did right then.

A world where Arthur was such a terrible friend that he had no idea that this was even happening. Where he mistook his friends grieving for laziness, wanting a day off. Where, Arthur realised, Merlin was punished for going off to visit this woman, feeling he had to lie and say he was in the tavern, or garnering herbs, or he _just slept in._

Arthur wondered how many times he'd hit Merlin while he was grieving. What kind of punishment he'd doled out on the days Merlin had come here and returned too late, or too tired, or even _too sad_ for Arthur's liking.

Arthur wondered how he had punished Merlin the day he had buried her here.

The ache in his chest spread to his stomach, twisting it into nausea. His throat constricted, muscles taught as his body prepared itself to vomit. He forced the feeling down, escaping narrowly with only the taste and the burn of acid in the back of his throat. Arthur deserved far worse than that for daring to call himself Merlin's friend.

"Freya?" Merlin was never known for his masculinity, but the pitch of his voice, that of a pitiful child, shocked Arthur. The pleading gasp of a word was raw as a fresh wound, as if she had died right there and then, as if Merlin's was watching the life bleeding out of her again. Feeling the coldness leach into her skin and watching her eyes fade, the spark of vitality gone. Closing her eyelids to hide them. Arthur saw in his minds eyes Merlin's crying over a body and not a lake. The woman he imagined was beautiful, not that Merlin's cared about that, her smile was radiant, and only seen when Merlin's told one of his jokes. To her they were gentle, kind, lacking the teasing he had with everyone else. Merlin treated her differently than he had been would anyone else.

Because he loved her.

In his head he saw the boy and his Freya dancing, her dress a white of purity, even though, of course, a fire of passion burned in her chest, as it did with Merlin. The sky was blue above and around them, the blue of their eyes. Their feet swished across the grass in unison. Merlin was dressed in greater finery than he could afford, and it occurred to Arthur that he had seen similar attire on grooms. Neither of them cared about their clothes however, only that the other was as happy as them as they stepped through their dance, slightly clumsy as they refused to allow any inches to separate them.

They parted for an instant so that Freya twirled under Merlin's arm, then she was back at his side, and he at hers. She was gentle, yet strong. Wise, yet young. Downtrodden, yet happy. Her and Merlin, taking on the world together.

Inseperable.

The hazy wraith in his mind became covered in red. It soaked into her dress and the ground she laid on - Arthur couldn't remember seeing her fall. It soaked into the grass and darkened Merlin's tunic as he held her in the same intimate pose that they had had as they danced. Clear drops fell from his eyes onto her pale skin, which grew paler as the ground beneath them darkened with her blood, and as the sky became blacker than night: no stars dared to come out at so unthinkable a time.

Merlin stayed with her all through the darkness, not even closing her eyes, certain that if he remained with her they would brighten of their own accord, if only he believed it.

A long cry of agony, as if he had been the one stabbed, shattered the silence of his night of hope as the sun rose, but she didn't. Pleading followed, shaking and crying, only turning away from her to beg to the heavens, _anyone but her!_

Cracked blood on Merlin's skin itched and flaked as her carried her unwaveringly to the lake, exhaustion taking over him as he crept out from Camelot to here, walking all the way without allowing her to be jostled or for her journey to break so that he could sleep or eat.

Waiting at the lake was a boat, so pale as to be white. He laid her there, blood somehow gone from her dress but remaining on his hands as he pushed her out, following her into the lake until he was close to drowning. The blood did not wash off of him and the water tried to drag him down. He very nearly let it.

One final sob and he lit the boat on fire, staying as close as he could to her, crying when he realised he would not be able to see her, even one last time, as she drifted across the lake and he found himself too heavy to follow and too light to sink. No way to join her.

He went unnoticed by the uncaring lake. They swallowed the tears that dripped from his chin but ignored him and his pleas to see her again.

After hours of vigilance the boat finally sank, and the broken man returned to the edge of the lake, sobbing until he finally slept, never to wake up whole again.

Arthur picked himself up and left, heading to the horses. He fed Merlin's and prepared his own for departure, not wanting Merlin to know that he'd caught him feeling so raw.

He left with the speed of a man with a demon behind him, but he knew the demons were in his head.


	2. The Balm of Conversation

The next morning Arthur was woken up by his cheerful manservant. _Cheerful?_

"Rise and shine!" Merlin threw open the curtains and blinded Arthur with sunlight. The sleepy king had difficulty getting over his confusion and barely noticed in time that Merlin was dragging him out of his bed.

"Oi!"Arthur smacked the boy on instinct and shoved himself away.

Merlin listed Arthur's schedule for the day while he sorted out his breakfast. Arthur didn't listen. His mind had gone back to the previous night. To Freya and the lake and Merlin.

"Have the day off, Merlin." Arthur paused after hearing the words come out of his mouth. _Did he really just say that?_

Merlin seemed to have the same thought, "What?"

"I wish to go riding with Guinivere," Arthur corrected himself. "Prepare the horses for the day."

"The day off?" Merlin sounded both doubtful and hopeful.

"You're not coming with us, idiot."

Merlin grinned and left his chambers.

An hour later Arthur was on horseback, gently cantering with Gwen by his side. She was blushing and giggling a fair amount and her happiness infected Arthur so much that he quite forgot the reason why he had taken her out.

He remembered when they reached the lake.

Swirls of sunlight danced across the trees, having bounced off the rippling water, clear and blue as the sky. Wildflowers grew everywhere and, in the distance, white peaked mountains touched the sky. An island in the lake boasted ancient ruins, noble and proud.

Arthur realise that Merlin could not have chosen a more beautiful place to lay his beloved to rest.

"Oh, Arthur," Gwen gasped. "It's lovely." She bent down to pick a flower and Arthur grabbed her wrist without thinking. Gwen frowned at him and he released her, sheepish.

"Merlin thinks so too. The lovely, I mean." He gestured to their surroundings.

The maid arched an eyebrow. "You don't usually admit it when Merlin helps with our...activities."

Arthur sighed. "As much as I would like to forget the world with you today, Guinevere, we have something I need to discuss. Something you can't tell Merlin about."

"Oh?" Gwen looked confused, but Arthur knew she would keep his secret.

"Last night I followed him here." Arthur ignored her gasp of disapproval. "And I found him calling out to someone and...crying."

"...crying? Merlin?" Her doubt sounded almost scornful, like she was expecting him to laugh and explain away his mistake.

Instead, Arthur nodded, tears springing to his eyes as he remembered his friend's sadness. "I think he buried someone here. A girl named Freya."

Gwen frowned. "He never mentioned a Freya...or any girl for that matter."

"I'm sure of what I saw."

"I don't doubt you," Gwen assured him, "but you must admit it's odd."

Arthur turned to her with an almost-smile. "You believe me then? All of this, what I saw...you agree that it's real."

Gwen's expression was one of surprise, not of disbelief. "I wasn't there so I couldn't say for certain but...I think you're right."

"So what do I do?" Pent up emotions from the last night burst out of him. "Do I ask him about her? I can't just leave this alone - he was _miserable!"_

Gwen placed a comforting hand on his arm and he leaned into her touch. "Gwen, there's another thing." He hesitated. "I think he visits her often, and when he does he gets back late and wakes up late and tired and all I see is him skimping on his chores...and I bully him and throw things at him and he's in mourning and I'm treating him so horribly and-" Arthur stopped to take a gasping breath, one reminiscent of a sob, and Gwen held him tightly as tears slid down his cheeks.

"You didn't know, Arthur." Her voice was soft and tender.

"I still did it."

"You're a good man. You would never have acted like that if you'd known."

Arthur placed his head in his hands. Almost a minute passed before he said. "I need to make it up to him."

"You need to _speak with him_ first."

"I do." Arthur sighed and straightened. "But everything he did and said, it was so personal. He'll be outraged when he knows I saw him."

"And rightfully so," Gwen admitted, "but you cannot right your wrong without admitting to it first."

"I don't want to lose him, Gwen."

Gwen didn't quite manage to suppress her laughter at that. "You're not going to lose Merlin. He loves you as a brother. And as such, you should not continue to slight him with any pretense when you could ease his suffering."

"I know but-"

"The two of you can recover from this."

Arthur looked into the eyes of his beloved, seeking consolation from their calm and compassionate depths. "Alright," Arthur said. "I'll do it."

 **Hey, this was originally a one-shot but then I felt like writing more so here's more. I've got two other stories on the go right now, both of which I have more ideas with so this is going to take the backseat, but stick around anyway, if you feel like it.**


	3. The Barrel of Nothing

**A/N If** **I'm honest I'd kinda forgotten that I was meant to still be writing this one...sorry. Yesterday I was nudged by a review and so sat down to do this. Hopefully, I'll get some more out soon, especially as I'm planning to only update _Specimen_ once a week now.** **Also** **, if you haven't checked it out and like the Avengers, go read _Specimen_.**

Arthur leapt into his horse, determined to return to Camelot and speak with Merlin immediately. A few hours ride with Gwen by his side brought him the sight of his home, silhouetted by the setting sun. He left his horse with a stable boy and made his way to Merlin's chambers, pausing only to say thank-you-and-goodbye to Gwen.

However, when he reached the rooms of the court physician he found them empty of a certain cheeky ( _grieving_ ) manservant.

Gaius told him Merlin had gone out earlier in the day and would hopefully return soon. Arthur left to pace his chambers when he had secured a promise from Gaius that Merlin would be sent to him when he was next sighted.

Arthur almost made a groove in the floor as the night wore on. He only noticed the passage of time when, during his regular checks for Merlin's return, he saw the pale moonlight that lit his room began to wane, and streams of dusty red and sandy orange painted the clouds above the distant mountains, like animal patterns in the sky.

His pacing paused so that he could watch the sun make her lazy ascent, trying to focus on the beauty instead of the voice in his head screaming _'He should be back by now!'_

At a time he deemed decent, he made his way to Gaius' chambers again, certain that Merlin had simply returned after the physician had gone to sleep, and so wasn't aware that he had been requested.

The sight of Gaius asleep at his table, rather than his bed, caused his certainty to crumble, slightly - Merlin wouldn't have left Gaius to sleep like that, and Gaius had clearly stayed up waiting on him.

Arthur gently shook the physician, who looked first grumpy, then confused, and finally concerned.

"You didn't see Merlin last night did you?"

"No, Sire, I apologize but I fell asleep before he returned," Gaius responded, glancing at Merlin's room, a frown forming between his brows. "I'll fetch him for you."

The man shuffled over to his ward's door and entered only to leave seconds later, shaking his head.

Arthur's face fell. "He didn't come home last night?"

"I'm afraid not, Sire."

Arthur was careful to disguise the twisting feeling in his gut, but was not altogether certain he had been successful. He left swiftly, taking a long and twisty route back to his chambers, hoping to catch sight of Merlin returning.

He had no such luck.

When the next day came with no sign of Merlin, Arthur was starting to panic, as were some of the Knights of the Round Table, as they were all close to the lad.

Arthur granted their request to search for him in the woods, not bothering to pretend it was for any kind of security reason.

Two days later Arthur was once again woken by Merlin, who was in shock at the state of Arthur's room. Arthur ignored his indignation and told him off for disappearing.

Merlin hid a smile at the King's obvious worry for him. Sometimes, yelling was his way of showing affection.

"Where have you been?"

"I was garnering herbs."

"For four days?"

"They're some distance away."

"Merlin." Arthur made his expression serious, hoping to show that he wasn't going to be waylaid by Merlin's banter.

"Arthur." The servant tilted his head in response, a familiar smile crossing his face.

Arthur sighed. "Where were you really?"

"I was gar-"

"No you weren't."

Merlin looked down, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish expression crossed his face. "I was in the tavern."

"For four days."

"Yes," Merlin winced.

"That's where you were."

"Yes, I already said."

"The whole time?"

"I never left."

"So why didn't I see you when I checked the tavern?"

Merlin seemed to freeze for a half second, but started talking again so quickly that Arthur almost thought he'd imagined it. "Which tavern did you check? Was it the Rising Sun because I don't-"

"I checked all of them."

"Even the Empty Barrel?"

"The what?"

"It's a small one in the lower town, I go there quite a bit, you wouldn't have heard of it."

"There's no tavern by that name in the lower town."

"It's quite new, Sire, and very small, you wouldn't know of it."

Arthur nodded. Then remembered he was still meant to be threatening Merlin. "Don't do that again."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sire."

Later, Arthur was thinking over their conversation. He had yet to ask Merlin about Freya, as the lad had been too busy during the day trying to catch up on his chores, but planned to resolve that later.

He want sure exactly why he felt the need to ponder over their innocent conversation, but there was something off there.

 _"Even the Empty Barrel?"_

Should Arthur have heard of such a small establishment?

 _"It's a small one in the lower town, I go there quite a bit, you wouldn't have heard of it."_

No, that wasn't what was wrong with their conversation.

 _"It's quite new, Sire, and very small, you would rather know of it."_

 _"Don't do that again."_

 _"Wouldn't dream of it, Sire."_

Arthur paused over those sentences:

 _"It's quite new, Sire..."_

 _"Wouldn't dream of it, Sire..."_

Why on earth was Merlin calling him _Sire_? Arthur tried to recall one instance of Merlin using that title, but found nothing.

Arthur racked his brains for an explaination for this discrepancy, and then when it hit him it was the most obvious thing.

Merlin was lying.

 **If there were loads of typos please tell me and I'll go and fix them but I didn't think there were any but there probably were some.**


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